


Me Too

by TheProphetChuck (HikaruDark)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:14:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruDark/pseuds/TheProphetChuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fit of madness? A need to break free? Or just an inevitability? John Watson can’t find a reason for his irrational behavior but he that doesn’t mean he’s willing to change it.<br/>Crazed!John and we'll call it LessTalkative!Sherlock, right after Last Vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me Too

This feeling could only be described as psychosis. It manifests differently in everyone, in varying ways depending on the situation. In Afghanistan it was the crushing weight of knowing that there was a world beyond the explosions and fire. Remembering home and all the things life had to offer that weren’t destruction, mixed with the ever present reality that you were not at home and were certainly in harms way at every moment made for a perfect cocktail of madness. It was imperfect and damaging but certainly effective.

Then there was… the dark day. The day that lasted over a year because nothing could fill that hole in his heart where a certain dark haired, light-eyed bastard had been. The hole stayed open and all he had to fill it with were memories that all seemed to twist from their sunny place in him and bend into that nightmare.

 

 _And then there was this_.

 

“Care to close the door?”

He’d been spacing again, going over the last times he’d lost control with a very vacant look to the carpet. 

“Mrs. Hudson would flip the center table if she saw-“

“Shut up.”

John had regained his voice. It was rough and husky, garbled as if this impulsive state were a physical pool he was struggling to keep above. Perhaps it was.  
“Shut your mouth, Sherlock Holmes. You get to be the victim of this arrangement for once.”

He pressed his lips down against the others again in a brutal kiss, at least it was intended to be a kiss. Control and patience had been cast away long before they had set foot on the front steps.

 

John had left Mary at their home, promising to be back soon. She’d held him then, with all the warmth and tenderness she could manage and he knew. In that embrace, he knew that she’d understood. Why wouldn’t she? She was utterly mad herself. The two of them had been, Sherlock and Mary. He was the nice one, the good one, the _sane_ one. And he had had enough of it. In that embrace he told her everything while saying nothing. The square of his shoulders spoke his stress, the hunch of his back revealed his tension, and the heavy sigh he heaved betrayed that secret he’d kept that hadn’t truly been so secret to anyone but himself. It wasn’t that he’d been harboring feelings for his best friend all this time, Heavens no. What he’d wanted was the one thing he couldn’t afford to have, what no one of could have afforded.  
He wanted his chance at a little recklessness. Alright, a lot of recklessness. He wanted to ignore what was fair to others for a change, to have his way and not feel the weight of guilt afterward. Recklessness meant many things. It meant letting loose and doing the worst and best things he could think of. It meant expressing the years of strenuous, tight lipped calm he forced over himself when Sherlock did anything remotely or completely ludicrous. Relieving the urges he felt to reprimand him, to strike him, to coddle him at times, to love him and more over to show him that he too- unbelievable as it seemed -could experience love from someone he trusted. But up until now there had never been a _right_ time to stop being the moral compass everyone so desperately needed.

 

“You’ll hurt me if you keep this up, John. I am just about as far into the wall as I can be without aid of a hammer and chisel.”

“I said shut up.” John hissed.  
He looked over his shoulder hastily, recalling Sherlock’s earlier warning of the open door. With a quick kick, he shut it.  
“How many times am I going to say goodbye to you?” He asked, to no one really. He didn’t expect an answer- certainly not a real one.

“I’d wager at least another dozen. One can never be too su-“

John pulled him forward by his coat, slamming him back against the wall.

“Right then. I suppose that was obviously rhetorical.”

“I just want my turn.”

 

“Your _turn_?” Sherlock's eyes narrowed, clearly not understanding. He'd taken John's odd behavior in the car as delighted shock, giddiness. He didn't mind the sidelong glances,the short breathed murmurs in place on usual small talk, or even the seemingly chance and notably consistent instances of physical contact- knuckles grazing each other at every opportunity- _all seventeen times_. It hadn't been truly strange until he returned from walking Mary in from the car. He'd come back looking resigned and prepared for something. The something became clear upon arriving home. No sooner had the front door been unlocked had he been pinned against the wall just near Mrs. Hudson's vase, held captive by a strong pair of hands and a determined mouth. They'd stumbled up the stairs at that point. He hadn't to stop John- contrarily, he'd helped him a few times, steadying them both where the other would have had them falling to the ground. He couldn't deny that he was enjoying this. He wasn't sure himself if he could confirm it but he certainly could not deny it.

 

“Yes, damn it. My turn. I would like to lose my mind just once. On my terms. I would like to forget about my responsibilities as a spouse and as a friend and just be consumed.”

“-by your raging _id_?” 

John glared at him.  
“You’re mental. Completely mental and I made peace with that years ago. Then along comes Mary, sweet and perfect and I think I’ve found another anchor but it turns out I’m just another anchor to another mental ship. And for once, just once…”  
He kissed Sherlock’s lips again, softer.  
“I would like to be a mental ship too.”

Sherlock looked him up and down once.  
“You too?”

“ _Me too_.”

**Author's Note:**

> May add more chapters.


End file.
